


An American in Paris

by TheSopherfly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Dancing, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Historical, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paris (City), World War II, moulin rouge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSopherfly/pseuds/TheSopherfly
Summary: Later, as Steve lay awake in his sleeping bag, he whispered, “Hey, Buck?”“Yeah?”“I don’t actually knowhowto dance.”Even in the dark, Steve could hear Bucky’s smile. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I can teach you. Just gotta liberate Paris first.”~The Howling Commandos join the fight to liberate Paris from German occupation. Later, Bucky gives Steve a dance lesson.





	An American in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> This is my collaboration with the wonderful [iamonlydancing](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/) for the Captain American Reverse Big Bang! Full art is at the bottom of the fic, or to check out a larger image, go [here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/e7cba192211e02fd694885392b0016a7/tumblr_pa8khhqgT61tthku6o4_r1_1280.jpg).
> 
> I've tried to preserve the actual timeline of the Liberation of Paris, which means that the Marvel timeline might be slightly altered to fit in with my vision of this story. The Howling Commandos are an integral part of this story, but aren't featured a whole lot - I'm sure there's a whole other story in here just about their adventures at the Moulin Rouge. There are also a few scenes I wish I'd been able to insert (like the scene with Bucky and Steve and the snipers), and I'm considering adding those at a later date. For now, this is the story. Hope you like Steve and Bucky spending a little time in France in 1944! (Also, fair warning - there is smut at the end!) ((Also, if history is your thing and I've gotten something totally wrong, let me know and I'll fix it!))
> 
> Thanks so much to [folklejend](https://folklejend.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!

 

_August 22nd, 1944_

_9:00pm_

When Steve Rogers had enlisted, he’d never imagined he would end up in France. England, yes; even if the Blitz had ended years ago, the British were still important allies. Italy, maybe. That was the most realistic, given that the strategy had always been to approach Germany from the Mediterranean. Last Steve had heard, Paris was one city of many in need of liberation, and there were larger gains to be made in other parts of Europe. Apparently, U.S. priorities had changed - or, better put, General Charles De Gaulle had forced their hand. There was an opportunity in Paris, one that the Allies couldn’t pass up.

Their orders to march due northwest to Paris had come ten days ago, when the Howling Commandos had still been stationed at the Austrian border. They’d made good time; ten men could cross the country at a much better pace than a couple hundred, even if three of those ten were new recruits. It was, Steve had to admit, a beautiful country. More beautiful than Italy. More beautiful by far than anything he’d seen in the United States.

Their small contingent made camp for the night southwest of the city. They had found fresh water in the form of river, and they put up their tents a few hundred yards away, far enough from the bank that they could stay well hidden. Sleeping two to a tent had become their habit. Steve wasn’t sure if he had decided to bunk in with Bucky, or if Bucky had decided to bunk in with him; either way, the two of them had a silent agreement not to be separated, not since the rescue from the HYDRA camp. The idea of sharing a tent with anyone else made Steve uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Commandos. He did. He just didn’t want to lose track of Bucky.

Even though they had stopped for the night, Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to take off his clothes and go to sleep. He stared down at the buttons of his jacket, willing his hands to move, willing himself to relax. He had long since traded in the star spangled suit for a real uniform, olive drab with matching pants and coat. It might not have been the most flattering, but Steve liked it. Liked being a soldier, even if it meant sleeping on a cot in the cold; liked being with Bucky, regardless of the risks that came with fighting in a war. Not that there were many real risks left where Steve was concerned. The serum had made him nearly indestructible. His body was bigger, stronger, quicker. His reflexes were sharper. Bruises and broken bones healed overnight. Steve was no longer a liability. He was an asset.

As much as the serum had changed him, Steve couldn’t help but notice how many things had stayed the same. Erskine had warned him that the serum would enhance what was already there, and Steve couldn’t deny that it had. He still couldn’t stand bullies. He still hated when the bad guys won. He was still stubborn as anything, and Bucky wasn’t shy about letting him know it. There was a French phrase for that, wasn’t there? _Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose._ The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Steve gave up on undressing and glanced over at Bucky lying on his cot. Probably not asleep, even if he was doing a good job pretending. Neither of them had been sleeping well, not since their near miss a few weeks ago. The image still flashed through Steve’s mind every time he closed his eyes. Bucky hanging from the side of the train, fingers slipping as he lost his grip on the metal bar. Steve’s enhanced reflexes and super strength hadn’t done a damn bit of good. He had barely been able to keep Bucky from falling, and when he’d finally caught Bucky’s arm, he’d held on so tightly with both hands that he’d left deep bruises that had taken weeks to heal. Those angry black and purple marks had faded, but they hadn’t disappeared. As if Steve needed a reminder of how close he’d come to losing Bucky again.

“What’re you starin’ at?” Bucky asked, his voice muffled.

Steve didn’t know how Bucky managed to _feel_ when Steve was looking at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Are too.” Bucky rolled over to face him, head pillowed on his arm. “You’re still thinkin’ about the train.”

Bucky had told Steve to forget it. Not to blame himself. Steve didn’t know how to explain to Bucky that it wasn’t that simple. Bucky had been thrown from the train because of _him._ And if Steve hadn’t managed to grab on in time-

“Steve,” Bucky said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts, surprising him with a soft, vulnerable expression. “It’s okay. I’m thinkin’ about it too.”

Steve sighed his frustration. “I’m sorry.” He blamed himself for that, too, for keeping Bucky from moving on. He let the guilt pass across his face, undisguised. There was no use trying to hide anything from Bucky, anyway.

Bucky’s brows drew together. “Stevie.” That was a nickname Bucky hardly ever used anymore. Maybe it didn’t fit, now that Steve wasn’t a foot shorter than Bucky and skinny enough to be bowled over by a gust of wind. ‘Stevie’ and ‘Captain America’ seemed incongruous. Mutually exclusive. That didn’t mean Steve hadn’t missed hearing it. “C’mere,” Bucky said. “Lie down with me.”

Steve hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bucky said sternly. Steve asked the question every time, and Bucky always gave the same answer. “It’ll make us both feel better.”

Bucky was right. Steve slept better next to Bucky than he did alone on his own cot. It was a bad habit, one that Steve couldn’t kick no matter how hard he tried. They’d done it once or twice back before the serum, on the night Steve’s mother had died and the night before Bucky had shipped out. There was safety in Bucky’s arms that Steve had never found anywhere else.

There was _more,_ too - and that was probably why Steve hesitated. His platonic feelings had never been truly platonic. Steve wasn’t sure when he’d realized it, and it was entirely possible that Bucky already knew and hadn’t said anything. Still. It was unfair to Bucky, allowing that kind of physical closeness without telling him. Steve had imagined the conversation so many times. _‘Buck… I think I get more out of this than you do.’_ It wasn’t hitting the nail on the head, but Bucky would get the gist. Steve opened his mouth as if to say the words, but all that came out was, “Okay.”

Bucky reached over and put out the lantern, and Steve managed not to trip as he crossed the small space in the relative darkness, unbuttoning his jacket as he went and setting it down on the makeshift table to his left. Despite the cot not being quite big enough, Steve joined Bucky, lying down behind him. Slowly, the movement tentative at first, he wrapped one arm around Bucky’s waist and pressed closer, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky smelled as good as he felt, and it was all Steve could do not to hum his relief.

On a real army base, or in a camp with hundreds of men, this wouldn’t have been safe. If anyone had walked in on them… Well. The outcome wasn’t favorable for men who fraternized with each other. Of course, soldiers still fraternized with each other, but they were smart. Careful. Falling asleep together wasn’t careful, even if it wasn’t what it looked like. Steve was thankful the Commandos didn’t care about things like that.

“I was afraid too, you know,” Bucky said into the darkness. “Wasn’t just you.”

Steve nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deep, reveling in the warmth of Bucky’s body against his own. “Promise to catch you sooner next time,” Steve murmured.

“Promise not to make you catch me at all,” Bucky replied.

~

_August 24th, 1944_

_5:15am_

The march through Paris took them through the fourth arrondissement, past Notre Dame cathedral. It was no less beautiful than Dernier had described. It looked almost ghostly in the low light of early dawn, the arches casting shadows over the cathedral’s stone face. Steve lamented to himself that they didn’t have time to go inside. The stained glass windows were supposed to be incredible. A religious experience, Steve had heard, whether a person believed in god or not.

“If we liberate Paris,” Bucky said quietly, appearing at Steve’s side, “let’s come back and go in.”

Dernier led them down alleys and abandoned roads, maneuvering around the known resistance points to avoid unnecessary combat. The assault wasn’t set to start until late in the evening - if they pulled the trigger too soon, they might compromise the entire mission. Not to mention that there wasn’t any cover to speak of on the Paris streets. Doorways and archways didn’t give sufficient protection, if they came under fire, and hiding behind cars would’ve left them open on three sides out of four. It was smarter to stay out of combat altogether, keeping out of sight of German forces as they made their way northwest toward their temporary hostel: the Moulin Rouge.

Dernier had made the arrangements to stay at the Moulin. It had been a solution to a problem as much as anything else - there was no place to set up camp in the middle of the city, not without building barricades and drawing unwanted attention. There were hotels, yes, but hotels were financially prohibitive, and hotel rooms didn’t quite facilitate quick getaways. The Moulin had plenty of exits. Geographically, it fit their needs. And if the men wanted to spend a little time dancing, Steve wasn’t going to stop them.

The original Moulin had burned down years ago, which meant the Commandos wouldn’t get to see the fabled wooden elephant in the back garden. Still, they would see the dancers; they would witness a can-can in person, with live music and a roaring crowd. Steve spotted the red windmill from far down the block, standing out in contrast to the cloudless sky. Electric lights spelled out “Moulin Rouge” over the door, along the building’s balcony. Steve thought that looked like a good place to spend an evening - on the balcony beneath the windmill, looking out across the city. The view must’ve been incredible.

Dum Dum and Gabe crowded the front door, each pretending to shove the other out of the way to get inside. Steve smiled. At least morale was high. They waited as Dernier stepped forward and rang the bell once, then twice.

A woman appeared in the front window, her eyes bright, her lips painted a deep shade of red. She unlocked the door and pushed it out, holding it open. _“Bonjour, bonjour a tous._ Please, come in.”

The main entryway led into an enormous dance hall. It had to be big enough for a thousand people, and Steve wondered at how the space looked so small on the outside compared to its sprawling interior. Its polished floor already showed signs of wear, scuff marks from high heels raking along and across the grain of the light brown wood. Steve stopped in the middle of the room and stared, tilting his face up to look at the ceiling. String lights hung from each end, meeting in the middle. It must’ve looked beautiful all lit up. Perfect for dancing.

It was a shame no one had ever taught Steve how to dance. Before the serum, no woman had ever wanted to dance with someone they might step on. After the serum, he’d had more important things to do. Saving the 107th. Saving Bucky. Stopping HYDRA from carrying out Schmidt’s plan.

“So,” Dum Dum said, tilting his head as he looked around. “Does this place get more lively after dark?”

_“Absolument,_ ” the woman said, eyebrows rising as she smiled. “The dancing does not stop until daylight.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, returning the woman’s smile with a flirtatious grin. “I don’t think we caught your name.”

_“Rose,_ ” she said. “I am an understudy for one of the can-can dancers here.”

“James Barnes,” Bucky replied, catching her hand and holding it to his lips. “You look like more than an understudy to me.”

Steve turned away, not interested in watching. Bucky was allowed to flirt, especially when Steve hadn’t told Bucky how he felt. But Steve wasn’t going to watch, not when it made jealousy churn in his stomach.

“If you’ll all follow me,” Rose said, calling out to the rest of the group. “I’ll take you upstairs to your rooms.”

Steve followed, straightening his shoulders. He avoided Bucky’s gaze as he trailed Rose up the stairs, the others following close behind.

~

_August 24th, 1944_

_2:30pm_

Dancing at the Moulin didn’t start until the early hours of the evening. That meant the Commandos had several hours to spend as they chose, as long as they stayed on the property. Junior had gone to make use of the Moulin’s bath; it was usually reserved for the dancers, but had been made available in shifts to any men who needed it. Jim, and James had gone with Rose to explore the back garden, though they would probably spend more time competing for her attention than anything else. Gabe had initiated a game of poker, which Happy and Pinky had politely declined in favor of catching up on sleep. Predictably, Bucky and Dum Dum had been more than willing to play. Steve had declined, more interested in drawing than bluffing and making bets.

Steve sat at the table in the corner of their quarters - one of several dressing rooms - sketching the Moulin’s windmill from memory. He wasn’t sure he had the proportions quite right, but he added the balcony and its electric letters, then flipped to a clean page. He glanced briefly over at Bucky, Gabe, and Dum Dum on the other side of the room, smiling to himself at how far the game had gone since he’d last looked. Things had devolved quickly; Dum Dum had apparently put his prophylactic kit up as collateral, and Gabe was collecting.

“I’m going to need that back,” Dum Dum said, frustration tugging down the corners of his mouth, rounding his mustache.

Gabe grinned. “You need it, you win it. Otherwise, you won’t be having your way with _les dammes Françaises.”_

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ain’t like it matters. They only give us three fuckin’ condoms.” Bucky reached over and pulled out the packets, holding them between his fingers. “What good’s that gonna do?”

Gabe laughed. “If they all look like Rose? Not much.”

Steve shook his head, huffing in amusement. He returned his attention to his sketchbook, eyes flicking up and down every few seconds as he drew the scene in front of him. Well. He told himself it was the scene he was interested in. He’d drawn the side of Dum Dum’s face, and Gabe’s hands reaching across the table. Now his focus had shifted, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Bucky. He drew Bucky’s hair, the laugh lines on either side of Bucky’s mouth, the small bit of stubble dotting Bucky’s cheeks. It was more detail than he’d given any other parts of the drawing, and he still wasn’t completely satisfied. He narrowed his eyes, biting down on the top of his pencil in concentration. Maybe more shading on the cheekbones…

Bucky looked up and caught Steve’s eye, and Steve swallowed down embarrassment at being caught staring, looking pointedly down at his sketchbook. He didn’t look up again until Bucky was sitting directly across from him, arms folded on the table. Steve closed the sketchbook quickly with the pencil inside it, setting it down.

“You’re quiet,” Bucky said. He had a funny way of making his accusations sound like questions. When Steve didn’t respond, Bucky raised an eyebrow trying to draw him out, or maybe egg him on. “Come on. You aren’t even going to lecture us about those stupid pamphlets?”

Those pamphlets were terrible. _‘No is the best tactic, the next, prophylactic!’_ Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ve read ’em,” Steve said. “I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

Bucky didn’t look satisfied by that, but he let Steve off the hook. “Guess it doesn’t matter for you anyway. Venereal diseases, I mean. Doesn’t the serum make all that irrelevant?”

Bucky wasn’t exactly asking him about his sex life, but Steve still felt a flush rising in his cheeks. “Not exactly something I asked Stark about,” Steve said.

“Well. Prob’ly better to be careful in any case.”

“Don’t know that I’ll need to be careful, Buck. I’m not…” Steve blew out a breath. He didn’t want Bucky to get the wrong idea. Then again, he didn’t want Bucky to get the right idea, either. “It needs to mean something. You know?”

Bucky’s expression grew thoughtful. “What would make it mean something?”

Steve didn’t say what was on the tip of his tongue - that it would mean something with _Bucky._ “I don’t know.”

“Alright,” Bucky said, not sounding convinced. He stood, resting a hand meaningfully on Steve’s shoulder. “Just… You oughta take a chance once in a while. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

Bucky returned to the poker game, or what was left of it. Dum Dum was rummaging through Gabe’s belongings, trying to find something to steal out of revenge. Steve reopened his sketchbook, mulling over Bucky’s words. Taking a chance, Steve could do. Taking a chance with Bucky - Steve was less sure about that. The world had already tried to pull them apart so many times. Steve didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship. He could keep his feelings a secret. Couldn’t he?

Looking down at Bucky’s face captured line for line in his sketchbook, Steve thought he wasn’t so sure about that, either.

~

_August 24th, 1944_

_8:30pm_

The Commandos had changed out of their uniforms, each wearing a suit, shirt, and tie supplied by the Moulin’s generous costumer. Uniforms might draw attention, and while Steve didn’t believe there would be any German soldiers inside the Moulin Rouge, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Before the dancing started, the Moulin hosted local musicians. Tonight’s was a singer, a dark-haired woman named Edith Piaf.

“She is very popular,” Rose had explained to them, leading the Commandos to a table near the front of the stage. Behind the first few rows of tables, it was standing room only; hundreds of patrons stood on the hardwood dance floor, waiting for the entertainment to begin. It had been a long time since Steve had heard live music, and even then, he’d never seen a performer this close. Edith’s voice was rich and warm, and it was no wonder she was popular with the people of Paris. Her body swayed and trembled with the force and emotion of the music; her expressive face acted out the words so well that Steve felt he understood them, even if he didn’t speak the language.

At the conclusion of her final song, Edith bowed, and the room erupted in raucous applause. She held out a hand to reference her musicians, and they stood and bowed as a man dressed in black entered to clear the stage, save for the piano, which was moved to the far left corner.

Gabe elbowed Steve from behind. “The can-can’s next,” he said. His excitement was contagious, and even Dum Dum was beaming as twenty women in bright red dresses and feathered headbands filed onto the stage. A pianist had entered, too, and he took his seat and played the opening notes, a few single keys in what felt like slow motion.

The dance that followed was probably more aerobic exercise than any regular civilian got in a month. The women kicked to waist level, all in unison, traveled around the stage, then kicked so that their ankles touched their ears, lifting and lowering and shaking their skirts. The music got faster and faster, and the dancers never missed a beat; near the end, they started making noises, loud, high pitched shouts as each one cascaded down into a front split for the finish.

The applause for Edith was nothing compared to the uproarious shouts and cheers for the can-can girls. Men threw their hats into the air, and once the women left the stage to mingle with the public, it was a free for all. Beautiful women grabbing at men left and right, pulling them out onto the dance floor. People pushing out chairs and scrambling to find an open space. By some miracle Steve and Bucky avoided the fray, retreating quickly to one of the booths.

“Never seen anybody dance like that,” Bucky said, shaking his head in disbelief. “A lot better than those dancers that used to tour with you.”

After some initial resistance, Steve accepted Bucky’s offer to buy them drinks. It took some time for Bucky to maneuver his way to the bar, and Steve watched the dance floor in silence, listening to the roar of the music and the intermittent peals of laughter. Bucky returned with their drinks, and he had just taken his seat on the other side of the booth when someone approached them. Bucky saw her first, and Steve turned, surprised to see Edith, the singer from earlier that evening. She had changed out of her form-fitting black dress into a white shirt with sleeves that stopped before her elbows, a dark, full skirt accentuating her waist. She was beautiful. At another time, she might’ve been just Steve’s type.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, leaning over the table and flashing a dazzling smile. “How are my American friends this evening?”

“Happy to be here,” Bucky replied, the words as smooth and decadent as melted chocolate.

Steve tried not to react to that, tipping his glass toward Edith in agreement. “Your music was beautiful.”

_“Merçi._ ” She sat down next to Steve in the booth, letting a hand rest on his thigh. Steve shifted uncomfortably, looking up to gauge Bucky’s reaction. He wished he knew how to interpret the look on Bucky’s face. “You’re Steve Rogers,” Edith said. “Captain America. _N’est pas?”_

Steve smiled awkwardly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Edith’s hand moved to his shoulder, nails brushing gently over the fabric of his jacket. “Would you like to dance?”

Steve looked up to see Bucky averting his eyes, staring out at the dance floor with intense concentration. Why? To give Steve privacy? Because Bucky didn’t like feeling invisible?

Steve set his drink down, shaking his head. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t pretend he and Bucky were just friends, even if that was all they were. Even if he hadn’t told Bucky the truth.

“Actually,” Steve said, standing just enough that Edith shifted out of the booth to let him pass. “I’m going to go get some air.” He tried not to look entirely overwhelmed as he walked quickly toward the stairs to the balcony, not looking back.

The night air was cool and bracing, and Steve stepped forward to lean against the railing, staring out onto the Parisian landscape. He’d been right before, about the view. It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he’d seen anywhere else. For a few seconds, he stopped thinking about Bucky and just looked, letting the lights in the distance take his breath away.

He hadn’t realized Bucky had followed him, not until he heard the door open and turned to see Bucky approaching, footsteps soft and slow.

“You alright?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, unconvincing. “Yeah.” He smiled weakly, trying to get Bucky to look less concerned. He was fine. He just needed air. “Too much commotion for me.”

“Right.” Bucky was next to him now, and even though Steve had fixed his gaze on the skyline, he could still feel Bucky’s eyes on him. “She was beautiful,” Bucky murmured. “And she liked you.”

Steve fought not to roll his eyes. He was completely aware of the way women responded to the big muscles and the blonde hair, to _Captain America._ It didn’t matter. It wasn’t what Steve wanted. “I know, Buck.”

“Then why didn’t you dance with her?”

Steve turned slowly to look at Bucky, losing himself in stormy blue eyes, losing track of the words as they tumbled from his mouth. “I’d rather dance with you.”

~

Steve didn’t know what had made him say it. He stared at Bucky like a deer in headlights, lips pressed together, jaw tight. He couldn’t take it back now. All he could do was wait - wait for Bucky to react. To _say something._

“Steve.” Bucky looked like he was about to say more, but he stopped short, no sound coming out.

Steve held his breath. That was almost worse than a rejection. The longer Bucky didn’t talk, the longer Steve didn’t know where they stood. Had he ruined things forever? He slipped nervous hands into his pockets, ducking his head and staring at the ground. Even if Bucky didn’t feel the same, it wasn’t beyond repair. He could fix it. He could backtrack. “If I’m out of line, just tell me.”

Bucky took a step closer. “Steve.”

Steve lifted his chin, meeting Bucky’s eyes. His heart thumped hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins the way it had when he’d pulled Bucky back into the train. Bucky smiled, one corner of his mouth curving up higher than the other, and Steve got the distinct impression that somewhere under the surface, Bucky was laughing at him.

“You really think I’d let you sleep in my bed if I didn’t feel something?”

Steve’s eyes widened, hopelessly hopeful.

“All this time, I thought it was just me.” Bucky shook his head, his expression softening. “No, Steve. Not out of line.”

“That’s… Really?”

Bucky barked a laugh, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, punk. Really.” Before Steve could respond, Bucky pulled him forward, wrapping strong arms around him and holding him tight.

Steve and Bucky had hugged before, but not like this. It was charged, full of want and need and relief. Steve grabbed the back of Bucky’s shirt and held on, tucking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “Could’ve told me,” Steve muttered.

“You sure waited long enough,” Bucky countered, ruffling Steve’s hair.

Steve pulled away, still warring with his own disbelief. Bucky felt the same way. Bucky wanted more.

“C’mon. It’s getting late.” Bucky meandered slowly to the door and held it open, waiting for Steve to take the hint. Bucky was right - they only had a few hours left before they had to be awake and alert, ready for a fight.

“I’m coming,” Steve conceded, rolling his eyes and jogging to catch up as Bucky headed down the stairs.

Later, as Steve lay awake in his sleeping bag, he whispered, “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t actually know _how_ to dance.”

Even in the dark, Steve could hear Bucky’s smile. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I can teach you. Just gotta liberate Paris first.”

~

_August 25th, 1944_

_1:30am_

Steve woke with a start to the lights turning on above him. He sat up, glancing out the window. It was still dark outside. Probably an hour or two after midnight.

“Sorry to disrupt everyone’s beauty sleep,” Dum Dum said, dropping a letter onto the table. “There’s news. From our spies on the streets.”

Steve pushed away his sleeping bag and stood up, offering a bleary-eyed Junior a hand before making his way to the table. “What kind of news?”

“The fighting started a few hours ago,” Dum Dum replied. “Multiple points across the city. If we move in now, we can blast through the opposition and meet the Allied troops at the Hotel De Ville.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “Then let’s get suited up.”

It only took the Commandos five minutes to shake off sleep, put on their uniforms, and gather their weapons. Dernier was the first to walk briskly down the stairs, and James and Gabe had just disappeared into the hall when Dernier reappeared, carrying another envelope.

“More news?” Steve asked. At this rate the whole fight was going to be over before they got there.

“Barely any opposition left,” Dernier said. “The streets are almost clear. We can go straight to the fight and end it. We can free Paris _today.”_

Steve took the letter out of Dernier’s hand, scanning it quickly. “No. I can’t send us all into the fight when there are still snipers all over the city.”

Bucky appeared at Steve’s side, rifle in hand. “I can take ’em.”

Steve gave him a hard look. “Not on your own, you can’t.”

“Well, what if I had Captain America redirecting the fire?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, thinking that strategy through. The shield was bulletproof. And especially with its patriotic paint job, it stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d draw the fire, Bucky would flank the snipers. As a two-man operation, it didn’t sound like a terrible idea.

“Steve?” Bucky asked. “What do you think?”

“I think it just might work.”

~

_August 25th, 1944_

_9:30pm_

By the time Steve and Bucky made it to their room - in the Hotel De Crillon, courtesy of General Charles De Gaulle himself - night had fallen on a newly liberated Paris. The streets had been reclaimed; the barricades had been deserted. Steve and Bucky had eliminated every sniper within the central arrondissements, and Steve’s shield looked like the sky had opened up and rained bullets, which wasn’t far from the truth.

De Gaulle’s speech had been inspiring, at least, the parts of it that Dernier had translated for them. The city had a parade planned for the following day, and the Commandos had been invited to join in the celebration and march through the streets. Steve wasn’t sure yet whether he wanted to spend his day in that big a crowd, but he had a feeling some of the Commandos would accept the offer.

The hotel was beautiful, more luxurious than any soldier could’ve needed. Steve had almost argued against the extravagance, but if this was a gift of gratitude, he didn’t want to turn up his nose at it and risk seeming rude. And after so many long weeks of war, he didn’t want to deprive his men of running water and comfortable beds.

The bar near the hotel lobby was quite a scene; patrons were indulging in the free champagne, drinking and singing and celebrating, and Steve saw more than a few of the Commandos taking full advantage.

“You can stay and celebrate if you want,” Steve said to Bucky as they made their way toward the ornate staircase.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I’m tired.” He adjusted his pack, then started up the stairs. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder, “I still need to teach you to dance.”

In such a large hotel, it took nearly ten minutes just to find their room. Steve unlocked the door and ushered Bucky inside, then closed it softly behind him, locking it again. It was beautiful; sheer curtains hung above the bed, and each fixture and piece of furniture was carved with delicate French designs. Even the blankets looked luxurious, clean and white and warm. The bathroom boasted a separate tub and shower, and the tub itself was big enough to fit three men. Growing up poor in Brooklyn, Steve had never imagined getting the chance to see a room like this, much less stay in it.

Steve let Bucky shower first, occupying himself with his sketchbook until it was his turn. He’d forgotten how good it felt to get clean, or even to bathe in anything other than cold water. Steve emerged from the bathroom in his sleep pants and a white undershirt, stopping cold in the doorway when he saw Bucky. He was sure he stared for too long before looking away; Steve hadn’t seen Bucky shirtless, not in a long time.

Bucky was leaner than Steve remembered, but the powerful muscles of his shoulders and back were no less defined as he stretched, staring out the window for a moment longer before turning around. “Have you seen this view?” Bucky asked. “We can see the Eiffel Tower through our window. Incredible.”

Steve blinked, dragging his gaze away from Bucky’s chest to meet Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky didn’t miss that subtle shift of focus, and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants, raising an eyebrow. “Was gonna ask you to dance,” he said, crossing the room to stand squarely in front of Steve. “But I think there are some things we oughta talk about first.”

“Right,” Steve agreed. Reflexively, he swallowed. Licked his lips. Stared for a second too long at Bucky’s mouth before finding Bucky’s eyes in the low light. He thought about what he might say. _‘I love you. I’ve always loved you.’_ He didn’t need to say that; he was sure Bucky already knew. “You said I wasn’t out of line before.”

Steve didn’t know what made him do it, but he took the risk, stepping forward and planting a kiss on Bucky’s lips. It was quick, soft and firm, more electric than any kiss Steve had ever had. He pulled away and searched Bucky’s face, Bucky’s blue eyes blindingly bright. “Am I out of line now?”

“No,” Bucky replied, his voice low and rough. “Not out of line.”

~

Steve didn’t know which one of them leaned in first. It didn’t matter; either way, their mouths came together again, harder this time, impossible pressure giving way to coiling heat as Bucky’s tongue teased at Steve’s lower lip, snaking its way into Steve’s mouth. Steve let their bodies slot together, pressing Bucky forward until Bucky’s back was against the wall. Bucky growled into Steve’s mouth, fisting his hands into the front of Steve’s shirt to pull him closer.

“I, um.” Steve drew back, bracing his arms against the wall, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s. This was as far as he’d ever gotten - not just with another man, but with anyone. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Bucky smiled a little. “Relax, Steve. You’re doin’ fine.” He reached up to thread a hand into the short hair at the base of Steve’s neck, then drew Steve down for another kiss. The frantic energy had changed; this time Bucky’s tongue worked into his mouth with long, languid strokes, and Steve sought out the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, their tongues tangling together as Bucky reached needy hands around to palm Steve’s ass. Steve groaned, arching his hips, and then he and Bucky had found enough of a rhythm to relieve some of the pressure building below Steve’s waist.

Steve didn’t argue when Bucky suddenly reversed their positions, keeping their mouths connected and walking Steve toward the bed. Bucky peeled Steve’s shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the floor, pushing Steve back onto the mattress. Steve moved back far enough to let Bucky climb on top of him, then drew Bucky down into another kiss, hooking his legs around Bucky’s waist and sucking hard on Bucky’s lower lip.

“Steve,” Bucky said, a ragged gasp. “I need to know what you want.”

Steve’s face warmed with embarrassment and arousal. “Sex,” Steve said, trying to keep things light. “I thought that was obvious.”

“It is,” Bucky said, smirking through a heavy-lidded stare. “What kind of sex?”

Steve didn’t have any idea how to answer that. “I don’t know,” he said. Then, more seriously, “Whatever _you_ want, Buck.”

Bucky let one hand trail down toward Steve’s cock, sliding under Steve’s pants to palm him from base to tip. Steve shuddered, and Bucky leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of Steve’s ear. “I want to fuck you,” Bucky said, fingers sliding back toward Steve’s hole. “Want to be inside you. But if that ain’t what you want-”

“It is,” Steve replied, desperation in his voice. He hadn’t known how much he wanted it until Bucky had said it out loud. “It is what I want.”

“Fuck.” Bucky dropped his forehead against Steve’s, brushing their noses together before crawling backward off the bed and getting to his feet. “Alright. Need you to take those off for me.” Bucky tugged at one leg of Steve’s pants for emphasis. “I’m gonna find something to use for lube.”

“There’s Vaseline in my pack,” Steve said, hurrying to shuck his pants and toss them aside.

“Got it.”

It was torturous, letting Bucky open him up. Steve had thought it would hurt, but it didn’t. Must’ve been the serum, making his muscles as flexible as they were strong. Bucky slid in and out, a single digit at first, not nearly enough to do anything but make Steve whine. Bucky worked up slowly to three fingers, spreading and pressing, gliding over _something_ that had Steve leaking precome and seeing stars.

Finally, Bucky settled himself between Steve’s legs, his cock pressing against Steve’s hole. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Steve bit his lip as the tip of Bucky’s cock breached his entrance. It was more of a stretch than three fingers had been, but it still felt good, _so_ good. It made the blood pound in his cock, and he wrapped a hand enough around himself, sliding it upward just to get some friction.

“Ngh.” Bucky watched Steve’s hand, then breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. “You feel good, Steve.”

“You too,” Steve breathed.

Bucky pushed the rest of the way in, inch by slow inch, until he was fully seated inside Steve, hips flush with Steve’s ass. “That okay?”

_Ahhhh._ It felt incredible. Steve nodded, arching his hips to drive Bucky deeper. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Bucky said, sweat already beading on his brow. “Shit, Steve. Can I - I need to-”

_“Move,_ Buck.”

Bucky breathed out, a trembling exhale. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Steve cupped Bucky’s cheek with one hand, thumb brushing the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Super Soldier, remember? Don’t need to worry about things like this.”

Bucky laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

_“Bucky.”_

“Okay, okay. I’m movin’.”

Steve choked on a moan as Bucky moved his hips, pulling back and thrusting in.

“Shit.” The word escaped before Steve could stop it.

Bucky must’ve known how far gone Steve had to be to start swearing, because he sped up, snapping his hips fast and hard, his cock dragging over that same spot that sent sparks shooting through Steve’s fingers and toes. Steve’s cock was as stiff as it had ever been, the tip resting against his stomach, leaking precome. Steve stroked himself more purposefully, twisting over the head, timing the movement with Bucky’s thrusts. That was good - shit, that felt - _fuck._ “Bucky.”

Bucky paused just long enough to stretch himself out over Steve’s body. Now they were chest to chest, and it was Bucky’s hand on Steve’s cock. “You getting close?” Bucky asked, punctuating the question by tightening his grip.

Oh, _yes._ Steve was so close, he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more. “Yes,” he wheezed, tilting his head back. “Bucky, I’m-”

“Me too,” Bucky interrupted, hips stuttering, almost losing the rhythm. “ _Ahh._ Stevie, shit, fuckin’ _Christ._ ”

There it was - hearing Bucky curse like that had Steve right on the cusp, hanging on by a thread.

“Come on, Stevie. Come with me.”

Steve was so close. Just a little more - one more thrust, one more stroke of Bucky’s hand over the head of his cock - _shit._ Steve tumbled over the edge, come painting his chest and Bucky’s fingers, pleasure cresting and washing over him in one enormous wave. Bucky wasn’t far behind. His thrusts lost rhythm altogether, and he pressed his hips into Steve’s ass as he spent himself inside Steve, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Steve bit his lip, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding hard. He blinked up at Bucky, trying to clear the spots from his vision, and Bucky grinned at him.

“It’s official,” Bucky said, pulling out and settling himself more comfortably between Steve’s thighs. “Captain America really does have the perfect ass.”

Steve broke first, a smile turning into a full blown laugh. Bucky laughed with him, their amusement filling the small room until Bucky silenced Steve with a kiss. “Sorry,” Bucky said. “I think I actually meant to say I love you.”

Steve’s heart clenched. “Jerk,” he said, more like a compliment than an insult.

“Punk.”

Bucky rested his head on Steve’s chest, and Steve smiled into Bucky’s hair. “I love you too,” Steve said.

He could feel Bucky’s body relaxing, his breathing slowing like he was about to fall asleep. Steve stayed where he was, enjoying the weight of Bucky’s body sprawled on top of him, admiring Bucky’s naked form.

“What’re you starin’ at?” Bucky asked, lips brushing against Steve’s skin.

“I’m not staring.”

“You are.” Bucky lifted his head and opened his eyes. “You ain’t tired?”

Steve shook his head sheepishly. “Not at all.”

Bucky sighed, dropping his forehead onto Steve’s chest, then shifted, moving slowly to a sitting position. “Alright. Go clean up and put on your uniform, then.”

“What-”

“If I’m gonna teach you to dance, you should at least be wearing the right clothes.”

Ten minutes later, Steve had cleaned up and gotten dressed, slipping his uniform jacket on and fastening the buttons from the bottom up. He finished with the top button, head ducked down to check his work, then glanced up to find Bucky watching him. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Bucky shrugged one shoulder, giving Steve an almost casual smile. “You look good.”

Steve looked down at himself, then back up at Bucky. “You think so?”

“Look better with the clothes off, but yeah.”

Steve laughed, a soft sound low in his throat. “So do you.” He took a breath, trying to shake the nervousness that had settled in his chest. He had no reason to be nervous. He’d just had sex with Bucky, for goodness’ sake. Could dancing really be any harder than that?

Steeling himself, Steve held out a hand, palm open. “So. How about that dance?”

~

As it turned out, Steve wasn’t a terrible dancer.

A little direction, a few words of encouragement; that was all it took before Steve was swapping positions with Bucky, taking the lead, his palm on Bucky’s back. Even reproduced on a recording, Edith’s voice was rich and full, lulling them easily into something resembling a waltz.

“Is this right?” Steve asked, pressing their faces together so they were dancing cheek to cheek, the music surrounding them as it floated up toward the ceiling and out the open window.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, pulling back to look at him. “It’s perfect.”

Steve couldn’t have agreed more. He leaned in for a kiss, soft and slow, then drew Bucky closer, making the space between them disappear. They danced like that for one song, then two, until Steve lost track of time completely. He knew they couldn’t stay in Paris - soon there would be another march, another mission - but for now, he planned to make this dance last just a little bit longer.

~

fin

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! While Steve/Bucky isn't what I typically write, this was still fun to do. Check out my [tumblr](https://sopherfly.tumblr.com/) for other things I'm working on, or just to say hi! :)


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